Plus 1
I pluck a dandelion from our front yard, the tall, overgrown grass swaying slowly in a lazy, spring breeze. I study the white fuzz on the top of the stem, stubbornly clinging to its core as a particularly gusty wind blows through. In a dramatically metaphorical manner, I feel for the white fuzz.
Everything feels just a little bit dramatic now a days. COVID-19 has captured the world’s attention, and though more than a month has passed since the initial lockdown orders, the oddness of living in isolation remains. Some form of normalcy has settled in, but the reality of the situation always lingers. Who knows how much longer we’ll be like this.
Like a child I wonder what I should wish for, as if this dandelion is able to cure the virus or bring me eternal happiness. Eventually I settle for the wish to end lockdown and stabilize the world again. I blow the fuzz into the garden and the seeds drift down to burrow into the soil.
Winnie tugs at her leash, then looks to me with round, brown eyes that say, “….mom, seriously? Potty. Now.”
Teenagers.
I sigh, toss the stem back into the grass, and let Winnie drag me around the rusty, metal gate and down the hill.
This is Winnie’s 1-a-day trip outside, but it’s my second. Though lockdown laws haven’t been strictly enforced to the point of people being stopped by police while walking, I still feel lucky for the excuse of needing to exercise my dog just as much as myself. I’m a bit like her plus 1 to a wedding, except the wedding is us celebrating being outside rather than the joining of a happy couple. It’s the little things nowadays.
My little, white fur ball teeters down the street with me in tow. Every few feet or so she has to stop and sniff something, her small, black nose twitching fiercely as she works hard at identifying her find. Whether it be a discolored wall, a crumpled crisps bag, or another dog’s hardened poo, I let her, within reason, enjoy herself. She doesn’t have many hobbies, so I don’t mind when she halts the walk to indulge in her curiosity.
Her other hobbies include napping, barking, playing ball, and cowering in the corner of the bed when I bring out her nightly routine tools (…its just a comb and a baby wipe. She even gets a chewy treat afterwards!).
Our walks typically last 15 to 60 minutes, most of it consisting of her wandering about in search of the perfect place to mark her territory. Winnie doesn’t care about gender norms (she alternates between peeing with her leg up and her legs planted on the ground).
We head towards the park, but I’m thinking the beach would be better for ball time so I gently lead her to the other side of the road. As we round the corner that leads to a parking lot across from the park, another dog comes into view down the way. Winnie’s focus is suddenly on nothing but that furry pal.
I wish I could explain to her why we can’t really interact with other dogs. As she strains against her leash, squeals of yearning escaping her mouth while she watches the pet parent and their dog crossing the street to avoid us, I can’t help but feel like a mom who is torturing her human daughter by not letting her interact with other kids. I know Winnie isn’t human and that she won’t die because of social distancing, but watching her scramble in place for a friend still makes my heart hurt. I miss my friends too.
I drag her forward and revert her attention to the beach up ahead. We cross the street and when I release her from her leash she bolts onto the sand, bouncing about like a bunny rabbit……A bunny rabbit who’s fur is uneven. All I can say is that I tried, but pet grooming is not my strong suit.
Sometime isolation has its perks in a weird, twisted way, like allowing me time to learn new skills. I learned how to make churros, started a crafty adventure book, and sort of trimmed (..completely hacked at) my dogs hair. This unexpected “free” time has provided me the opportunity to dabble in things I’ve always been curious about…. and to catch up on adulthood. Sigh.
Winnie suddenly zooms across the beach like a child’s toy car, her mustache and ears are pushed back by the breeze as she begins to circle me. She runs a few laps around me, her mouth wide open in a grin, tongue lolling out and teeth barred in a non-threatening manner (hough how a 6 pound, white fluff can look threatening in the first place is a mystery).Winnie disagrees, however, especially when a skateboarder passes by. She’s too cute for her own good.
I realize with little surprise that I’ve been thinking to myself again about how cute my dog is. I rant a lot in my head about how sweet, though sometimes annoying, her quirks and habits are. I’m sure other people aren’t quite as obsessed, especially since being in lockdown has me spending time with her 24/7. Like, why am I writing an article about her right now? Really, for my own pleasure.
I pull a neon blue ball out of my pocket, the fluff pulled up like the little hairs on the back of a person’s neck. Winnie prepares to run as I pull my arm back. She cheats by jogging backwards. I wait a moment. Her eyes are on the ball like she can use telekinesis to throw it.
As soon as I make way to toss the ball my dog is off and sprinting down the beach. I stare at her fondly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I can see the waves lapping softly. My dog, the beach, and our walks are some of the only consistent things in our day-to-day lockdown life.
The repetition of lockdown activities has started to become monotonous and, to put it casually, a huge bummer.
Still, watching Winnie spazz out over a ball keeps things a bit jazzed.
Like I said, it’s the little things.
